


Tease Me

by BubbleGumLizard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Fluff, Greg's forearms, I'm Bad At Titles, Light Angst, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft also being a little flustered, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-11 22:02:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10475379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard
Summary: Mycroft likes when Greg lifts heavy things.  Greg likes when Mycroft insults him.  It's a match made in heaven.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, forearms are sexy and I decided to write a fic about it.
> 
> It's probably going to be short and should be a one shot, but it's not. :-)

It was early evening and for once Mycroft had no social obligations or meetings to attend.  It rarely happened and when it did, he always felt at a loss for what to do.  Looking over his calendar, he realized that it had been quite some time since he had paid his little brother a visit and it was Friday, John’s usual night out with Detective Inspector Lestrade.

Mycroft loved annoying Sherlock and if a certain sexy detective inspector happened to be there when he did it, that was just a bonus.

Without ringing the bell, Mycroft went right up to the flat, using a key he had acquired shortly after Sherlock moved in.  It was particularly infuriating to Sherlock when he did that, which meant it amused Mycroft greatly.

Sherlock was sulking on the couch, no doubt because John was out of the flat.  “Good evening, little brother,” Mycroft said, sitting in one of the armchairs.

Sherlock ignored him and rolled over so his back was too the room.  Mycroft smirked.

“I thought I would pay you a little visit tonight.  You know how I adore spending time with you and I thought it unlikely you would be otherwise engaged.”

The door opened and John walked in, followed by Greg.  “Good evening, John, Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

“Evening,” Greg said with a smile as John made a face.  John said something low to Greg and left the room after glancing over at Sherlock.

“Tell me, Mycroft, why do your visits always occur when Lestrade is here?” Sherlock said suddenly, jumping up.  “Are you so desperate to see him?”

Greg grinned, walking over and sitting down in the chair across from Mycroft’s.

“Oh, don’t be tedious, Sherlock.  Surely you can think of better insults than me having some sort of interest in the detective inspector.”  

Sherlock mumbled something rude and wandered off after John, leaving Mycroft and Greg alone.

“Is that an insult?  You being interested in me?” Greg asked, sounding curious.

“To a man like me, yes.”

_ Ah, there it was _ , Mycroft thought.  He could never make it through an interaction like this without saying something that sounded nasty, no matter how he tried to be nice.

He looked at Greg, expecting a nasty response or to see his face curled into an angry snarl.  Instead, Greg was still watching him.  He cocked his head to one side, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a smile with an emotion Mycroft couldn’t place.

When their eyes locked, Mycroft’s breath hitched and he felt the situation spiraling out of his control.

“Here’s that box, Greg,” John said, coming back into the room, and just like that the moment was broken.

“Thanks, mate,” Greg said, standing.  He looked through the box that John was holding.  “It’s a bit bigger than I thought, I might have to take a cab instead of walking.”

“Are you now working a side job as a garbage man, Detective Inspector?” Mycroft asked.

John rolled his eyes and muttered something.  Greg laughed, a noise that sent a jolt of heat through Mycroft.  “Just some books he thought I might like.  Whole library’s worth, it seems,” Greg explained, beginning to roll up his sleeves.

Mycroft tried not to stare as Greg unbuttoned his cuffs and neatly rolled his sleeves back past his elbows, revealing tanned, muscular forearms.  He took the box from John with a small “oof”, muscles tensing as they worked to hold it.

Mycroft had a sudden image flash through his head of Greg using those strong arms to pick him up and carry him to a bed and felt another jolt go through him, this one right to his cock.

Clearing his throat, Mycroft stood.  “Well, if my brother is going to act like I child, I may as well leave.  Detective Inspector, would you care for a ride?  That way you needn’t worry about a cab.”

“That’d be lovely.  Night, John.”  He nodded at John, who had a mildly horrified look on his face.

Mycroft led the way to his car, opening the front door for Greg to put the box in and then sliding into the back seat.

They spent most of the ride in silence, Mycroft looking out the window while Greg watched him, not even attempting to hide it.

“I, uh, I might need help with the doors,” Greg said suddenly, when they were nearing his flat.

“Doors?” Mycroft asked, startled out of another daydream involving Greg and a bed.

“The one on the street and the one to my flat upstairs.  It’s hard to open doors when carrying a heavy box.  I can repay the help with some coffee, maybe?”

Mycroft’s hesitated.  Surely Greg knew that he had no interest in coffee, especially at this late hour.  And the box wasn’t that large, Greg would be able to open doors just fine.  Oh.   _ Oh. _

“I, er, that is -- uh, coffee would be lovely.”  Mycroft found himself suddenly flustered, something else that rarely happened.

_ Smooth, Holmes _ , he told himself, looking at Greg.  He was smiling and his eyes were crinkled at the corners in amusement.  Was he laughing  _ at  _ Mycroft or  _ with _ him?  Mycroft wasn’t laughing, but this could be a situation where it was normal to share merriment at someone’s awkwardness.

The car rolled to a stop and Mycroft followed Greg out of the car, holding the doors open for Greg as promised.

Once they were safely in Greg’s flat and the box had been dropped in a corner, Mycroft looked around curiously.  When he turned back to Greg, he noticed that strange smile again.

“Do you always do that when you go somewhere new?  File everything you see away in that big brain of yours?”

Mycroft didn’t know what to say.  He cast around in his mind for any words that could diffuse the situation, but none came to him.  Mycroft Holmes, master of conversation, was at a loss for words.  “You mentioned coffee?” he finally managed to squeak out.

“It’s a bit late for coffee,” Greg said, taking a step closer to Mycroft.  He looked down and flexed his forearms, his eyes darting back up to Mycroft’s face to see his reaction.  Mycroft felt color rush into his face as Greg smiled broadly. “Arms, huh?”

Mycroft didn't know what to say, so he just stayed silent, fixing Greg with an intense stare that normally made people feel uncomfortable, his first line of defense when someone managed to fluster him.

“What exactly would be bad about ‘a man like you’ being interested in me?”

“It would only be a problem if the interest weren't reciprocated,” Mycroft said slowly, forcing himself out of his comfort zone.  He would have to be uncomfortable if he wanted Gregory.  And oh, how he wanted Gregory.  “Which doesn't seem to be the case.”

“Then why did you say it was?”

Mycroft smiled.  “If you were me, would you have said anything different in Sherlock’s flat?”

“So you weren't just being insulting?”

Mycroft shrugged. “Well, that too. It's an instinct. Especially when Sherlock has just made a correct observation about me that could lead to embarrassment.”

“I thought it was suspicious that you turn up almost every time I'm there.”  Greg stepped closer to Mycroft, close enough to touch.

“Well, aren’t you the clever detective?”

“I  _ am _ a professional.”

“At least you like to think you are,” Mycroft shot back, working on a theory.  Greg was giving Mycroft that strange smile again, the one he couldn’t quite define.

“Why are you always so insulting?” Greg asked, licking his lips.

“Is it a problem?”

“Oh,  _ no _ ,” he said, and then pulled Mycroft in for a long kiss.

That’s when Mycroft recognized the emotion behind the smile: it was arousal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly dialogue. I thought of it this morning when I woke up two hours before I needed to on accident and my sleeping husband wrapped his sexy arm around me.

Mycroft started to sit up, but Greg reached out and wrapped his strong arm around Mycroft’s middle, pulling him close and keeping him in Greg’s bed.

“I need to leave,” Mycroft protested, but put his arm on top of Greg’s, his hand resting on Greg’s forearm.

“No, you’re staying here,” Greg said sleepily.

Mycroft was amused, despite himself.  It wasn’t often that people told him what to do.  “I need to go home and sleep.”

“If only we could find somewhere to sleep here, in my flat.  Now hush, I’m tired.”

“Why won’t you let me leave?”  He was doing his best to sound annoyed, but it wasn’t working.

“Why do you keep trying to leave?”

“I would rather not be in your presence any longer than necessary, Detective Inspector.”

“My cock was in your mouth fifteen minutes ago, you can call me Greg,” Greg growled and tightened his arm more, pressing his whole body against Mycroft’s back, his face buried in the back of Mycroft’s neck.  His breath was warm and comforting and Mycroft could feel himself starting to fall asleep.

He shook his head to rouse himself, making a half-hearted attempt to escape.  “I suggest you allow me to leave, Gregory.”

Greg chuckled.  “You can’t do anything without asserting your dominance, not even calling me by my name, can you?”

Mycroft ignored his question, but started idly tracing patterns on the arm that was wrapped around his middle, feeling a surge of affection for the man who held him.  “A kidnapping charge would make your position a difficult one.”

“I’m not the one who goes around kidnapping people to say hello.  Now, don’t make me handcuff you.”

“You shouldn’t make promises if you don’t plan to follow through.”

“Interested in handcuffs, noted.  Sleep now.”

Mycroft couldn’t resist being difficult a little bit longer.  “How long must I stay?”

“Until after breakfast.”

“I don’t eat breakfast.”

“Fine, until  _ I’m _ done eating breakfast.”

“I am unaccustomed to sharing a bed with someone.”

“You’ve never shared a bed with anyone you’ve dated?”

“I don’t date, Gregory.”

“What?”  Greg suddenly sounded much more awake and slightly alarmed.

Mycroft laughed.  “I’m not exactly a blushing virgin.  Relationships do not interest me.”

“Until now.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t have one night stands.”

“Odd, I don’t recall having a date before the sex.”

“We went somewhere neither of us live, you gave me a ride home, and I invited you up for ‘coffee’.  That counts as a date.”

“Ah, I misunderstood.  I thought dates were supposed to have an element of romance, not annoyance.”

“Well, at least you can admit when you’re wrong.”

“You’re an absurd man, Gregory.”

“Says the forty-something-years-old man who has never shared a bed with anyone.”

“I will concede one point, it isn’t an entirely unpleasant experience.”

“Lovely, I’ve been upgraded from being used as an insult to ‘not entirely unpleasant’.”

“If you behave, you might even reach ‘I don’t despise him with every fiber of my being’.”

“Don’t get my hopes up, Mycroft.”

“I’m leaving at first light tomorrow, Gregory.”

“Stay at least until after the morning sex.”

“I accept your terms.”  Mycroft leaned his head forward and pressed a kiss to Greg’s arm.

As he drifted off to sleep, Mycroft heard a chuckle and a rumble of, “I need to get some dumbbells tomorrow.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one! Might get the next chapter up later tonight, not sure yet. :-)

**Date tonight. --GL**

**Was that a question? --MH**

**No. I'm telling you. I'm taking you out on a proper date. Tonight. --GL**

**But Gregory, how will you manage to surpass the romance of our last date at my brother's flat? --MH**

**I can probably think of something. ;-) --GL**

**Unfortunately, I'm not available. --MH**

**Change your plans. --GL**

**As disappointing as it is, there are things more important than us having sex. --MH**

**Not sex. I said date. --GL**

**I appreciate the attempt to pretend you want something more than sex. --MH**

**You're an idiot, Holmes. --GL**

**Ah, there's that Gregory Lestrade charm I know and love. --MH**

**See? You want to date me. --GL**

**Shag. I want to shag you. --MH**

**After dinner? --GL**

**I am unavailable, Gregory. --MH**

**Do you mean emotionally? Because in that case, I'd agree. --GL**

**Emotionally and physically, Gregory. --MH**

**Why do I get chills when you use my name? Even in a text, it's sexy. --GL**

**You are clearly starved for attention.  Perhaps you should find someone to give you what you need.  --MH**

**I did.  You.  Tonight.  --GL**

**Your reading comprehension is very poor.  --MH**

**What time is good for you?  --GL**

**I’ll send a car for you at 8:00.  --MH**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Mycroft rolled over and buried his face in Greg’s chest, smiling as he felt strong arms encircle him.  “Good morning,” he said, pressing a kiss to one hairy pectoral.

“Mmm.  Good morning, you.”  Greg slid his hand up to Mycroft’s jaw and tilted his face up for a kiss.  After a moment, he pushed Mycroft onto his back and leaned over him.

Mycroft considered commenting on Greg’s constant eagerness for sex, but decided against it.  Why ruin a good thing?

When Mycroft stood up twenty blissful minutes later, Greg grabbed his wrist and held it tightly.  Mycroft favored him with a withering stare and a raised eyebrow.  “Yes?”

Greg grinned.  “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I am going to be a productive member of society, Gregory.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Society still exists on Saturday.”

“Are you telling me you work on Saturdays?”

Mycroft bit back his smile, ready to engage in another verbal sparring match with Greg, when Greg’s phone rang.

With a sigh, Mycroft started to dress himself, making a mental note to ask Greg if  _ he _ works on Saturdays.

Listening to Greg’s end of the conversation, Mycroft went into the kitchen and put some bread in the toaster.  By the time it was toasted and buttered, Greg was rushing out of the bedroom.  Mycroft held it out to him and he stared at it like it might bite him.

“What’s that?” Greg asked suspiciously.

“Toast, Gregory.”

“Where did it come from?”

“Your ineptitude knows no bounds, does it?  Toast is made using a very useful appliance called a toaster.”

“You made me breakfast?”  Greg sounded shocked and Mycroft realized his mistake.   _ Ah, yes.  The Iceman making toast for a man.  How sentimental _ .

“You need to eat if you’re going to be on a case and dealing with Sherlock.”

“How do you know I’ll be dealing with--” Mycroft gave him a look and Greg nodded, taking the toast.  “You’re right.  Thank you.”

Greg leaned in for a kiss, gently holding Mycroft’s chin.  “Last night was wonderful.”

“And this morning,” Mycroft reminded him with a smile.

“And this morning,” Greg echoed.  “Can I see you again tonight?”

“I am afraid my schedule will not allow it.”  Mycroft sighed, wishing that it was possible for him to be irresponsible and see Greg at the expense of his work.

Greg nodded, giving him one last kiss.  “I might still be awake when you’re done, whenever that is.  Text me if you want to come over.”

“Tempting, Gregory, but it will be very late, well past when both of us should be asleep.”

“I anticipate your text.”  Greg smiled and walked Mycroft out to his car.

 

***

 

Later in the day, Mycroft was happy to discover that their work was overlapping.  Greg’s murder case was tangentially related to a situation that Mycroft was working on, and instead of sending an underling to sort it out, Mycroft decided to go himself.

When Mycroft arrived at Greg’s office, he found the whole happy group in a conference room, going through some papers: Greg, Sally Donovan, Sherlock, John, and several other people whose names Mycroft barely remembered.

“Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade.  Might I have a moment of your time?” Mycroft asked, ignoring everyone else in the room, especially Sherlock, who muttered something nasty under his breath.

Greg looked up, Mycroft’s presence barely registering on his face.  “Mr. Holmes, we are very busy here.  If you need to speak with me, you may do so here.”

Mycroft hesitated, his jaw clenching in annoyance.  He wasn’t sure if he was actually annoyed, but he needed to make a good show of it for Sherlock.

“Well, if you insist on endangering the security of our nation and its people, very well,” Mycroft began, forcing himself to look annoyed and slightly bored.  While he was explaining the situation, Greg stood and deliberately took off his jacket and started to slowly roll up his sleeves.  It was as sexy as a striptease, the way he made eye contact with Mycroft, slowly rolling the fabric of his shirt and gently massaging his arms as they became exposed, knowing that Mycroft couldn’t react in any way, not even involuntarily.

When Mycroft was done with his explanation, he internally breathed a sigh of relief, biting the inside of his cheek as hard as he could to avoid embarrassing himself.

Greg was still standing, a look of mild annoyance on his face, his arms crossed in front of him.  “I fail to see why any of what you said impacts my team or this case in even the slightest way.”

“I fail to see how your imbecility is my problem, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft sneered, trying not to think about wanting to pull Greg down on the conference table and snog him senseless.  “You are informed as to your next necessary actions.  I trust we will have your cooperation on this.”

“I’m not entirely sure why you think it’s appropriate for you to come in here and tell us what to do, Holmes.”  Greg’s face was thunderous and the contempt when he said Mycroft’s name was palpable.

“Do I need to impress upon you the difference in our positions, Detective Inspector?” Mycroft kept his voice cool, though he was starting to get nervous that Greg wasn’t entirely acting.

“My office, now, Holmes,” Greg ordered, pointing.

“I will humor your temper tantrum, Detective Inspector, if only in the service of interdepartmental cooperation.”  Mycroft kept his head high, striding to Greg’s office with a confidence he didn’t feel.

When they reached the office, Greg slammed the door shut.  Mycroft turned to face him, feeling apprehension for the first time in years.

“You are so bloody sexy,” Greg breathed and rushed forward.  He put his hands on Mycroft’s back, slid them down to cup his bottom, and lifted him clear off his feet, holding him up against the wall and kissing him.

Mycroft moaned, wrapping his legs around Greg’s middle.  He pushed his head back against the wall, allowing Greg access to his neck.  “You are a superb actor, Gregory.”

Gregory took a break from kissing his way up Mycroft’s jaw to let out a short laugh.  “Well, you are really infuriating, so it isn’t hard.”

“It’s a good thing you find that attractive, isn’t it?” Mycroft asked, capturing Greg’s lips with his own.

Greg mumbled something against Mycroft’s lips that sounded suspiciously like “Piss off, sexy.”

Mycroft smiled and was about to respond when the door opened and John Watson’s voice said, “Oh my  _ god!” _

Mycroft leaned his head back against the wall for a moment, panting, before looking around Greg’s head to see John, Sherlock, and Sally standing there, various looks of horror adorning their faces.

Greg buried his face in Mycroft’s neck, shaking with laughter.  Mycroft tried, unsuccessfully, to keep a straight face.  He loosened his legs from around Greg’s waist as Greg set him down.

Mycroft smoothed his hands down the front of his jacket and cleared his throat.

“I believe we have an understanding, Detective Inspector?” he asked in his normal, disinterested voice.

Greg nodded.  “I will have those files sent over to you.”

“Very well.  I look forward to our future cooperation.”  He felt the corners of his mouth quirk up in a small smile as Greg’s eyes twinkled at him.

He left the office, walking past the horrified onlookers without a second glance.  He knew that he wouldn’t escape from Sherlock’s displeasure for very long; once his brain started processing what he had seen, Mycroft would be on the receiving end of some very unpleasant text messages.

As he slid into his car, his phone vibrated in his pocket and he sighed.  When he checked the message, however, he his face flush with pleasure.

**You are amazing, love.  --GL**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My new favorite person, Ngaijuuyan, drew a picture!
> 
> http://ngaijuuyan.tumblr.com/image/158998886915


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, really short one today. I'm sick with a cold and didn't have the brain power to write much today. I just wrote this on my phone because it was in my head. 
> 
> Thanks to TheArtStudentYouHate for some inspiration. :-D

**Lestrade, brother? Really? --SH**

**I don't believe this concerns you, Sherlock. --MH**

**You couldn't just hire a professional? --SH**

**I don't understand why you always have to take my things. You've done it since we were children. --SH**

**Gregory is yours now? I was unaware. Doctor Watson will be devastated that he is no longer the object of your affections. --MH**

**Piss off. --SH**

**Ah, I do love a good verbal sparring match with a superb conversationalist. --MH**

**Don't ruin my relationship with Lestrade. --SH**

**I need him for The Work. --SH**

**I find your misuse of capitalization disappointing. --MH**

**What a coincidence. I find you being my brother disappointing. --SH**

**Do not worry, I will not jeopardize your ability to meddle in active crime investigations. --MH**

**Good. And please never subject me to the sight of your mating rituals again. --SH**

**I believe we were alone in his office, with the door shut. If you weren't being so nosy, you wouldn't have seen anything. --MH**

**Donovan heard a noise and thought you might need help. --SH**

**And you decided to follow along while she walked in on us? --MH**

**I was bored. --SH**

Mycroft snorted with laughter and set his phone down. Sherlock was predictable, as always, but still amusing. A moment later his phone chimed again and he picked it up, expecting another insult, but perhaps Sherlock wasn't entirely predictable after all.

**Don't hurt him, Mycroft. He's a good man and he cares for you. --SH**


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, getting a little angsty in this one. Also, John is kind of a jerk, so consider yourself warned. :-) Oh, and there's the tiniest hint of smut in it, too. <3
> 
> Enjoy!

Mycroft drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair and sighed.  He was at Sherlock’s flat for their quarterly meeting about the trust that provided for Sherlock’s financial needs since the genius had decided that something as banal as money was beneath him.  The meetings had become more interesting since John had entered the picture, because there was finally someone there besides Mycroft who cared if Sherlock kept a roof over his head and clothes on his back.

Even with John’s interest and attention, Mycroft found the meetings incredibly dull.  There was an undercurrent of anger from John towards Mycroft that made things not quite as boring, but Mycroft would still rather be in a nameless prison being tortured than sitting in the flat on Baker Street, drinking low quality tea and trying to convince Sherlock to sign necessary papers.

Familiar footsteps sounded on the stairs and Mycroft barely managed to suppress his smile.  There was a knock at the door and it opened, Greg’s head poking through the doorway.

“Good afternoon, boys,” Greg said with a smile, stepping into the room.

“What are you doing here?” John asked with a frown.

“Need you two to sign some paperwork from the last case.”

“And my corpulent brother is here,” Sherlock added, his tone implying that John was an idiot.

“Oh hello, Mycroft.  I hadn’t noticed you there,” Greg said, feigning surprise.  

“Good afternoon, Gregory,” Mycroft said in a smooth, silky voice.  “You have so little authority that you cannot hire a courier?” 

“Something like that.”  Greg bounced on the balls of his feet with a smile.  “It’s a bit warm in here, boys.”  He took off his jacket and tossed it onto the couch, revealing a fitted, short-sleeved shirt.

“My presence here is unnecessary,” Sherlock said, sounding disgusted, and stood up.  He said something in a low voice to John and disappeared into his bedroom.

“He didn’t sign my papers,” Greg told John, waving a folder at him.

“Nor mine,” Mycroft added, looking at the sheaf of papers on the desk, where Sherlock had tossed them in annoyance.

John sighed, took the folder from Greg, and scooped the papers up off the desk.  “I’ll get him.”  He stood and followed Sherlock, leaving Greg and Mycroft alone.

“What are you wearing?” Mycroft asked, trailing his eyes slowly down from Greg’s face to his stomach.

“It’s Saturday, professional dress isn’t required,” Greg said, taking a step closer to Mycroft.

“I assume my assistant is to blame for your knowledge of my whereabouts?”   
“It depends on how large her severance package will be.”

“Severance package?  I was going to offer her a pay increase.”

Greg grinned and sank to his knees in front of Mycroft, running his hands lightly up and down Mycroft’s thighs.  “How long do you think it will take John to get him to sign those?”

“What does that matter?”  Mycroft’s voice sounded strained, distracted by Greg’s hands.

Greg licked his lips and reached for the zip on Mycroft’s trousers.  “Just wondering if I can get you off before they’re back.”

Mycroft’s brain crashed to a halt.  Whatever he had been expecting Greg to say, this wasn’t it.  He couldn’t do anything but watch, stunned, as Greg pulled Mycroft’s rapidly filling cock free and wrapped his lips around it.  As Greg dipped his head, taking Mycroft entirely in his mouth, Mycroft let his head drop back and his eyes flutter closed.  He did manage to stifle his moan, but only just, as Greg began sucking and bobbing his head expertly.

Greg’s hands fisted in the jacket Mycroft was wearing, the muscles in his arms flexing against Mycroft’s body as he loosened his grip and then tightened it again.  Mycroft groaned, stuffing his own fist into his mouth and biting it so he wouldn’t make noise.

Pure pleasure was shooting through Mycroft with every little movement Greg made, both with his mouth and his arms and Mycroft felt his orgasm overtake him with a speed that might have been embarrassing, if he had been able to think about anything long enough to feel embarrassment.

He bucked up into Greg’s mouth before sinking back into the chair, breathless, as Greg tucked his rapidly softening cock away.  He reached out and rubbed his thumb across Greg’s cheek.  “You’re amazing,” he murmured.

Greg smiled.  “I’m getting compliments now?  If you thought I responded well to insults, just you wait.”

Mycroft chuckled and took a handful of Greg’s shirt, pulling him roughly up for a kiss.  “Isn’t it lucky that I am a master wordsmith, then?”

Greg crawled into Mycroft’s lap, putting his arms around Mycroft’s neck and kissing him softly, sweetly.  “I love you, Mycroft,” he whispered.

Mycroft had just opened his mouth to respond when John cleared his throat from the doorway.  “Mycroft, I think it’s time for you to leave.  We’ll send the papers over.  Greg, may I have a word?”

Greg pressed his lips firmly against Mycroft’s and then stood, glaring daggers at John.   
Mycroft stood, picked up his umbrella, and left the flat without saying a word.  He went down the stairs and loudly opened and shut the door before recalling his skills from his spy days to silently creep back up the stairs.

“Are you mad, Greg?  Mycroft?” John was asking, sounding amazed and disgusted.

“I’m not sure that’s any of your business, John.”  Mycroft had never heard Greg’s voice sound so cold, not even when they first met and Greg had despised him.

“It is, though.  You’re my friend and I don’t want to see you act like an idiot.”

“That’s rich, coming from you, Mr. I’m-not-gay.”

“That’s different and you know it, Greg.”  John sounded hurt by the venom in Greg’s voice, but Mycroft wasn’t feeling particularly charitable towards John at the moment, so he was happy.

“So you can fall in love with a Holmes, but I can’t?”

“Love?  Greg, what are you talking about?  Mycroft Holmes isn’t capable of love!”

Mycroft’s blood ran cold at this; what if Greg believed John?  Worse yet, what if it were true?  Mycroft wasn’t sure how he was going to answer Greg when they were interrupted by John.  He didn’t know if he loved Greg back, didn’t know if it was possible for him to love.

“He isn’t, is he?  Who took care of your ‘just a flatmate’ before you came along, eh?  Who stayed with him all night and took care of him as he detoxed?  Who goes to all this trouble to make sure Sherlock never has to worry about money?  Who deals with your attitude to ensure that Sherlock is taken care of?  If you can’t see that Mycroft is capable of love, you don’t know what love is.”  Greg was getting loud, clearly angry.

“I have no doubt that Mycroft would put all that down to familial responsibility or some nonsense.”

“Can you even hear yourself, John?  You don’t know what you’re talking about.  You’re delusional if you think that Mycroft doesn’t love Sherlock.”

“Oh yes, I’m the delusional one here, not the bloke who just sucked off a sociopath in his mate’s living room.”  They were both shouting now and Mycroft felt his hands involuntarily clench into fists.  He didn’t like hearing someone speak to Greg like that and wanted to charge in there and take a swing at John, which was probably the wrong course of action.

“What I do and who I do it with is none of your business.  And if I hear you insult Mycroft one more time, we’re going to have a real problem,” Greg growled, his voice dropping low and dangerous.

“I hate to interrupt such a lively conversation, but I hope you’re both aware that Mycroft is on the other side of the door, listening to this conversation,” Sherlock’s voice said quietly.

The door opened abruptly and Mycroft blinked up at Greg, whose chest was heaving with anger.  “I should have known,” Greg snarled.

“Yes, you should have,” Mycroft told him evenly, unsure of how he was expected to act in this situation.

Greg looked back a John.  “I’m leaving.  Call me when you learn to mind your own business.”  He turned and took a step down the stairs.  “As for you, Mycroft, we will discuss this later.”

“Greg, I…” Mycroft trailed off, at a loss for words.

“I said we will discuss it later, Mycroft.  Out of my way.”  Greg practically ran down the stairs, brushing roughly past Mycroft.

Mycroft turned so John and Sherlock wouldn’t be able to see his face if they looked down the stairs.  He took a deep, steadying breath, and then walked slowly down the stairs, using the time before he reached the door to force his face into its usual neutral expression.

When he made it into his car, he raised the privacy screen and put his head in his hands, fighting the tears that sprung to his eyes.  As the car slid into traffic and he started to calm himself, he realized that one thing was obvious: he was, in fact, in love with Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.  He just hoped that Greg still felt the same way.


End file.
